Nicolás Suárez

A home movie in the ruins of modern architecture. A arborescent stream of consciousness that gloats over one of the most elementary cinematic mysteries—the thrill of discovering a secret.

Letters, photos, furniture, hats, pipes, combs, eyeglasses, pens, pen holders, infinite books. An inventory of all, almost all, or simply some of the things that rest in the neocolonial house of a man whose name was Ricardo Rojas and who, one hundred years ago, wrote a delirious book called Eurindia.

Letters, photos, furniture, hats, pipes, combs, eyeglasses, pens, pen holders, infinite books. An inventory of all, almost all, or simply some of the things that rest in the neocolonial house of a man whose name was Ricardo Rojas and who, one hundred years ago, wrote a delirious book called Eurindia.